


Psycho and the Pup

by Endraking



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Crawl out of your grave, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Future Fic, Harsh Language, M/M, Revenge, Supernatural Biology, Supernatural secrets, The Psycho - Freeform, mutual hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endraking/pseuds/Endraking
Summary: Tracking down Monroe's rogue element of hunters was already tough enough for Isaac.  Having a member of his team with the past they shared only made things worse.  But also, maybe better.
Relationships: Matt Daehler/Isaac Lahey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Psycho and the Pup

A line of sweat beaded along his forehead, just below his hairline, his dense curls obscuring his eyes as his head drooped. The wolfsbane threaded twine cut into his wrists, polluting his system with the slow steady doses of the toxin. He cracked his lids, barely open but his senses amplified in unsteady pulses.  
He swallowed the dry lump in his throat, adjusting his body in the chain, barely able to move with the leather strap wrapped around his chest, under his arms, locking him to the metal chair bolted to the floor. He focused on the heartbeats, pushing away his own thundering. 1...2....3. 3 men, though he could only make out the two that seemed to pass into and out of his vision to his left. His sense of smell was shot, only picking up the wolfsbane, his blood, and their gun powder. His side itched from the skin slowly knitting itself back together, the wolfsbane from the rope hindering it but the rounds that penetrated him during the mission had long since tinked on the concrete floor.

The men used regular rounds, but traps and techniques of a hunter. They weren't like the others their group had neutralized when it formed. Their uniforms, the way they carried themselves, the manners of communication and utilizing their strengths and leveraging his weaknesses, they were professionals.

Monroe's usual group were zealous fanatics, pushed to act with righteous anger, slinging wolfsbane rounds as if everyone and everything was a werewolf. While dangerous, they were sloppy, which was why Chris knew that he could help guide the team to neutralize them. He doubted that Chris expected Monroe to hire mercenaries and gifted them with the materials to augment their already formidable skills with measures to offset any supernatural advantage.  
But that was why he was here now. Drops of sweat falling freely from his locks; the dots darkening the concrete slab below.  
There was only one member of the team remaining, the psycho. One by one this group had picked them off as they maneuvered on the "True Hunters" of Monroe's faction and he kicked himself for not realizing they were different from the groups they were sent to deal with. Still, he had a lot of reasons to kick himself, most notably listening to the psycho when he should've fallen back, regrouped with Chris and formed another group.

The psycho had different plans, different ideas, and already scouted this base once before it was even presented as an option. His claws and fangs would've slipped a bit quicker if it weren't for the timing. There was no way the psycho knew who these men were before the other members of the team died.  
Now, it was a waiting game.

Just as they hunted others, these men hunted them. They had to know only two remained of the Silver Arrow and now they waited for the psycho to act.  
He stilled the doubt that crept into his mind, the wash of fear that his momentary reflection allowed to exist. He doubted the psycho would try to save him. That wasn't who he was. The psycho liked the twisted safety of watching, hiding behind the camera as easily as he hid behind the scope of his rifle. But that didn't mean the psycho wouldn't aim to kill these men, or at least after he extracted the information he wanted.

That was the crux.

The psycho’s pictures and video had guided him effortlessly past the myriad of traps that could've slaughtered a pack of wolves only for him to mistake the darkened square of the black and white photo for camera glare. It wasn't lethal, but no trap in their inner quarters would be for the supernatural that navigated.

Too valuable.

These men were professionals.

He pushed the strength up, lifting his neck, the muscles struggling to respond, to fight the poisoning that happened over the course of the hours or even days he'd been held. His parched lips cracked as his voice broke, "Can I have some water?"

The reaction was instantaneous, the blunt side of the reinforced glove across the side of his face, torqueing his neck up and away from force. The heat from the sunlight breaking through the tiny window near the top of the wall gracing his cheek lightly for only a moment before his head fell forward again. At least it confirmed that he was in a basement of sorts. The dank feeling against the bare skin of his neck and hands began to make sense.  
The metal door creaked as it swung open and the synchronized movement of weapons and rounds piqued his curiosity as his blurred vision came into focus.

The psycho stepped into the room, that smug half grin, his lips curled up just enough to flash his human fang. His tilted angular expression, deeply tanned and dust marked skin, brown hair spiked up from frustration, oils, and waiting but most of all, the mischievous glint in those steel grey with flecks of green eyes.  
He knew that look, knew it from far too many missions that the psycho sent sideways and noticed the grenades hanging off the straps of his olive drab military bandolier which only partially covered the snaking wires that traveled from the series of grey duct tape covered tubes wrapping around his chest and eventually merging and ending with a blasting trigger in his right hand.

The psycho began lightly, "Whoa guys, I'd think twice about shooting if I were you. See, you've got to ask yourselves, do I trust shooting him in the hopes that he won't be able to depress the trigger."

The psycho's grin grew as he tilted his gaze to the trigger, the one clenching in his hand, his thumb poised to depress it, "You know, this one, in my hand, with a _death grip_."

One of the men behind him replied with a blunt accent, "You're bluffing, you'll die too."

The psycho's smoky cackle filled the tiny concrete room as his gaze returned to the men behind him, "You mean I'll die _again_. Nothing new. Literally nothing new. And before you think I won't press the trigger; you know my body naturally will when the three of you shoot me. And...gauging from the...oh I don't know...10 inch thick walls, I'd say if the initial blast doesn't kill you then the reflection of the force will liquify your organs but don't take my word for it, pull the trigger."

He lifted his head the slightest, his eyes falling on the two black rings that wrapped around his tanned bicep, a tattoo that he hadn't noticed since the psycho's arrival and his fangs dropped. The growl came without his willing, "Matt!"

Matt took a step closer and the men shuffled which Matt replied offhandedly, "Go ahead and shoot. I don't know what you're waiting for."

After a tense silence Matt looked to him, "Have they been treating you well? Plenty of kibble and water for your bowls?"

He growled and the man spoke up again, "You'll kill your wolf friend too."

Matt's overdramatic laughter exploded, "Friend? You hear that Isaac? These pricks think we're friends? If we were really friends would I have watched them knock you around for the last day."

Matt broke from his gaze and wiped a tear from his eye with his wrist as he looked back to them, "Which reminds me, for highly paid contract mercenaries you guys need to learn how to close a curtain. I thought I was in high school all over again."

He snarled lowly, "I will kill you."

Matt reached forward and he felt the presence of the men move closer, the barrels of weapons just past his form before that open hand tapped his cheeks, "Promises, promises. Maybe we can bond over that threat at the pearly gates. See, I should be worried, but you Izzy, you're good. All dogs go to heaven."

Another voice peaked, the nervous laugh sliding into his tone, "Wolf, your friend is crazy."

The word "crazy" floated too long and Isaac already knew the reaction that would gain. He muttered, "I wouldn't have said that."

The change clicked and Matt's bravado escalated to sheer rage, "Crazy? YOU THINK I'M CRAZY!?!?! Listen here Ivan, I don't give a fuck about all the ears or teeth or whatever the fuck you keep for trophies in the place of boy scout merit badges because **I'M** the one calling the shots here. I know that to you, this is a paycheck, but me? ME?!?! I'm only here to see what your brains look like. And not sudoku. So, this is how the scenario is going to play out. I'm going to decide if I feel like today is the day I punch the ticket... _again_ and during that time, you and your little buddies are going to figure out that all the money that Gerard is paying you won't mean shit if you're concrete stains. In the meantime, you might want to start moving to that door because I don't know, I've got a Beyoncé song stuck in my head and fuck if ringing wouldn't clear it out."

Matt moved to his right slowly and the men shifted to the left of his chair as the Mexican standoff continued through Matt's ranting, "Oh! And before you get that clever idea of running to the door and shooting me then, I didn't spend that day only watching you. I've rigged these halls to detonate with this little trigger too, or didn't you notice the antenna strapped to my back."

The fear seeped into one of the voices as they slowly moved to his front, "You won't escape. Only one way out."

Matt smugly responded as the edge of a blade rubbed against his hands, jagged strokes cutting into the thin rope, "Two ways, Sergei. Don't forget _boom_ "

One of the men began to speak and Matt cut him off, sharply speak singing, " _All the single ladies_ "

The men backed up to the door and made it just as the rope fell from his wrists. Matt stepped back into view and spit, the metal pin of a grenade falling to the floor. "Don't move too quick, might make me jumpy."

Just as the men made it into the hallway, he pulled against the leather strap and looked up to Matt and the tense crazed expression across his face. One of the strapped tubes fell and bounced off the floor, the hollow sound of empty plastic killing the silence.  
All eyes went to the bounce of the tube and Matt rushed the door, sending the grenade flying into the hall. Shots fired and Matt staggered as he slammed against the metal door, closing it just as Isaac pulled himself free from the chair. Moments later, the grenade exploded causing the walls to shake and dust fell from the ceiling as Matt leaned back against the closed and locked door.  
The crazed expression was gone and that same know-it-all grin returned, "Alright, Izzy, I got them to not shoot you. If you've got a way out, I'm all ears. Hopefully before they remember their own explosives."

The haze began to clear as the adrenaline shot through his veins. He scoured the tiny concrete room and his eyes landed on the small window near the ceiling. He pointed, "There."

Matt groaned as rounds pinged off the other side of the door, " You've got to be kidding me."

Another concussive wave hit and bulged the door out slightly. He grabbed the top of the chair and pulled. The metal groaned as it bent until the clips broke from the bolts. He rushed over and jammed the top of the chair against the reinforced glass, splintering it. After several more hits, the solid cube pushed out and a breath of fresh outside air flowed.  
He staggered back, and Matt announced with a muted "Fuck it" before he rushed to the window and vaulted into the tiny opening. He crawled halfway, the tubes and disguise tearing free and his feet dangled before he said, "Little help?"

Isaac grabbed his ankles and pushed shoving him out. The door buckled again from another blast as he jumped to the opening. Matt grabbed his hands and scurried back, pulling him free of the cell.  
Once in the courtyard of the abandoned converted school, they ran.

He followed Matt's odd movements the skips to his steps and abrupt halts and turns. He always knew Matt was psycho, obsessed, so focused to a single objective at a time that it could consume him, but he never figured him to photographically memorize the layout of these mercenary's traps. He managed through a rushed breath, "Where are the other mercs?"

Matt shot back a fanged grin, barely ducking under a low branch as they entered the sparse forest, "You mean bodies. Where are the other bodies? Asleep in their beds. Just like I found them."

"You killed them in their sleep?"

Matt huffed, "Yeah because they would be so courteous to wake us up before killing us."

They reached a large Bush and Matt grabbed it. With a quick twist, the leaves and branches fell away and revealed a tiny, beat up sedan. Matt flinched before he grinned, leaning against the driver side top, "Ready to go back to your dad?"

"Chris isn't my dad " he muttered as he opened the door, "And you've been shot. I can smell it."

Matt shot back as he threw his door open, " They missed! And you never thanked me."

He snarled back, "I smell your blood, stop lying!"

Matt threw open his jacket and lifted his shirt exposing smooth, unbroken skin, "See!"

He breathed out slowly as they climbed in and Matt began to drive away. Matt muttered, "Still didn't thank me."

He slowly turned his head, glaring, meeting that subtle grin, "You killed my father."

"Yeah, the prick that almost killed me and used you as a punching bag. You're welcome."

"I'm not thanking you!"

"Anytime. Glad to do it."

"What the hell were you thinking? What if they shot you when you walked in?"

Matt chuckled darkly, "Then we'd both be dead."

"That was...".

He bit his tongue before the words crazy or insane could slip free. Matt's grin only broadened, "Badass? Yeah, it was."

"Why did you save me?", He asked softly.

Matt shrugged in the seat, tearing through the off-road path, "Don't think you're special. I may have some of your pictures but you are my ticket to get Chris to spill the beans so I can kill _his_ dad. Patricide 101."

"You're not right."

"Not wrong either."

The tingle of fire burned across the tips of his fingers, his claws coming free, "Don't you feel bad about anything you did?"

Matt huffed, "You mean doucheface don't you?"

"Jackson's a good place to start."

Matt bellowed a single laugh, "You mean the poor rich boy that _tragically_ lost his parents and ended up in the lap of privilege? Not a chance. With everything that he was given he still wanted more. So, when he became that thing and lived to serve, that wasn't a bad thing, that was karma."

He closed his eyes, shaking away the fire stoking in his chest before he whispered, "Do you regret anything?"

The disgust in Matt's voice quelled. Instead he seethed with rage, "Oh I regret something. I regret not gutting Gerard first. That old fuck stole everything from me, burned his twisted face into my mind while his hands squeezed my neck in that creek. And what does the dumb fuck do? Gets his own granddaughter killed. So yeah, if there's one thing I would change it's that."

"You think Gerard killed Allison?"

Matt glared at him, burning holes that made him break the gaze, "I know how she died. But I also know that Gerard stole Jackson, followed his own stupid plan so when the time was right to save her, he was worthless. I wouldn't have been worthless."

Matt's anger burned away the tension and left an uneasy calm in the car. Matt finally made it back to the roads and after clearing several small towns, Matt calmly stated, "Let Chris know we need to meet up. Those mercenaries were a dead end."

"You couldn't get information from them."

"Izzy, mercs only know paychecks. I don't want a direct deposit; I want their golden goose."

He collected his thoughts and focused on the sounds. The lowly rumble of the tires on the road. The suck of the air as it blew into the car from the windows not ceiling properly. The way their breaths came into sync, a stark contrast from the beating of their hearts. His was calm but Matt's seemed fast, nervous, on edge expecting more.  
Matt couldn't lie to him, couldn't mask it but that seemed to matter little since Matt was incredibly blunt with him anyway. The scents were a different story. Matt's cinnamon spiced musk tickled his nose but when he focused on his emotional state, he could only pick up that normal base, blunted by the grime but the sickly-sweet iron scent kept popping up as a faded after thought.

Chris messaged him back and he relayed, "Chris can meet us in a few days. He's still in Beacon Hills."

Matt guided the vehicle to an exit, "That's fine, we've been driving long enough today anyhow."

The poison must've affected him more since he barely noticed how long their silence stretched, the sun long since slipping below the horizon, the faint lights of the small town and the beams from their car the only points of illumination.

They didn't quite make it to the heart of the town before Matt pulled into the worn gravel parking lot of a near empty block structure. The lines of light from inside the tiny front jut let him know the office to this out of the way motel was open but no one other cars were in sight. Matt left the car running and said, "I'll be right back. If they show up, drive off. I'll find you." before he climbed out and walked to the office.

The minutes dragged as every sound of the night pulled at him. He twisted in his seat as much as his stomach twisted over itself. Matt walked back, spinning a key around his finger and moved to the back of the car, "Come on, we've got a room."


End file.
